


Black is the soul

by assassi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial, M/M, Mates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassi/pseuds/assassi
Summary: This work and its title were inspired by Korn's great song :)I've been working on it for a while, on and off, so if you see any mistakes or anything sounds off - let me know. There are a few tricky scenes where the POV switches between Chris and Peter in the same scene. And review to let me know what you think :)





	Black is the soul

**Author's Note:**

> This work and its title were inspired by Korn's great song :)   
> I've been working on it for a while, on and off, so if you see any mistakes or anything sounds off - let me know. There are a few tricky scenes where the POV switches between Chris and Peter in the same scene. And review to let me know what you think :)

It was cold outside. Too cold for fucking September. September should be sunny days and still green grass, warm weather and T-shirts. Not rain and mud and a runny nose.

Now that he thought about it he’d never had a runny nose before, being a werewolf and all. It must be the time he’d spent in that… place. It must have fucked with his wolf senses as much as it had fucked with his brain.

Who was he kidding? His brain had been too fucked up, long ago. It was just recently that he figured who he had to thank for that.

Thanks, sis.

Or maybe it was the autumn as a reminder of what was going to follow. _Winter is coming_ and all that shit. Winter for wolves meant ‘stay close’; ‘stay together’. Go hunt, provide for the pups, cuddle together while cold. And then in January…

Peter shook his head, sniffing miserably again and trying to focus. He had to get himself something to eat. Something easy to cook but that didn’t smell too much of artificial coloring and other shit.

Even in his weakened state he felt the eyes on him and rolled his own.

“No plan of world domination was ever born while grocery shopping, Christopher, I promise you that.”

It was supposed to be snarky, but it came off weak and tired; just like himself.

Quiet footsteps echoed in the mostly empty store and stopped right next to him.

“Well?”, Argent asked. “What _is_ the plan?”

Peter’s hands clenched into tight fists.

 

_As it all falls down, do I walk away  
Or do I stand my ground and accept my faith?_

 

* * *

 

Even without the amount the brats had positively _stolen_ Peter still had money. He once knew how to invest wisely and he could now afford…

To live.

It was such a strange concept. After nearly dying in a fire. After _actually_ dying by his own nephew’s hand. After spending time in a nuthouse.

Everything from before was gone and he had to finally accept that. It had taken him lots of time, blinding rage and a fixation on revenge that was bordering on insanity. Everything was gone and all the anger in the world wouldn’t fix that. Finally, the anger was gone too. Like a fire that had devoured and destroyed everything before it had died out on its own.

He had to build from scratch.

So, a den.

His requirements in the beginning consisted of ‘something with a roof’. The longer he home-hunted, the clearer his goal became. Must be a house. Further from the noise of populated areas. But not in the woods; that hit a little too close to the wound. It would be nice to have a pool; water calmed him.

“So, not in the city but not in the woods either?”, his agent lifted an eyebrow in a poor imitation of the patented Hale expression. Peter pitied him. So he showed him how it’s done. The man choked on air and hastily scribbled something in his notebook.

“Noted, sir.”

* * *

 

It was ridiculous to say that Beacon hills had suburbs but that was the closest description of where Peter’s house was. It was nothing big or flashy – a kitchen, a den, two bathrooms, three bedrooms. A pool. Peter felt calmer just looking at it. As if he could breathe a little bit easier.

Next step was the car. Sure, he could just run anywhere, and faster than most cars, but those were designer shoes thank you very much! The brats teased him, assuming he’d buy something red, shiny and fast or big and overcompensating. The bets so far included a Ferrari, a Corvette and a Hammer. He sent them a feral grin and bought the newest Mustang GT. Black.

* * *

 

Peter stared blankly at the endless rows of pills. He’d never needed pills. Even now he didn’t even know what kind of pill he needed. His… cold? was persistent. He wanted it gone.

“Pretty sure those don’t work on werewolves”, someone said.

Peter knew who it was even before he turned to face him. Argent didn’t look much better, himself. He was holding some kind of anti-headache pills. He caught Peter staring and shrugged.

“Migraine. Yours?”

“No idea”, Peter admitted.

“Have you tried eating grass?”, Argent smirked.

Peter was so fucking fed up with dog jokes. He narrowed his eyes, just barely refraining from flashing their neon blue color. Most weres were intimidated by that, knowing what it meant. Argent knew too. He knew more than Peter would have liked.

Finally, Peter huffed and turned to leave. Argent called after him, insisting he didn’t mean it like that but he paid him no mind.

Until a week later.

* * *

 

Chris opened his front door and stared, kind of really surprised.

Peter glared, leaning heavily on the frame.

“What kind of grass?”

* * *

 

Deaton studied his test results carefully, frown firmly etched between his eyebrows.

“Your blood test shows nothing wrong – you’re not poisoned or drugged with anything. The fever and fatigue don’t fit any of the few were-illnesses that I know of.”

“So, basically, according to you I’m fine?”, Peter hissed from the table, where he was panting, bent in two.

It was obvious he was not fine. Chris frowned, looking back at the doc but Deaton offered no help.

“I’ll dig in deeper, try to find something else that could affect you this way”, he promised. But Chris could tell he wasn’t counting on that.

“Come on. I’ll give you a lift”, he offered, Peter not even trying to argue or spit out a sassy comment.

It just showed how sick he actually felt.

* * *

 

Peter woke up with that unmistakable feeling that something was very, very wrong. It spoke a lot to the life he’d lived that he knew this feeling intimately and wasn’t even all that surprised that something had happened yet again.

 _What_ had happened… well, _that_ was another thing.

Because _that_ managed to freak even him out.

He rolled out of bed, literally rolled, and fell on all fours… that were actually all fours. His heartrate skyrocketed when his eyes fell on paws and when there was an actual extension of his spine. He had a tail!

Not the most important right now.

He was a wolf.

A full on wolf.

He tried to shift back but he couldn’t. He tried to connect with his inner animal but the bond felt distorted somehow and he couldn’t reach his wolf no matter how much he focused. He felt stuck in this body and that, _that_ made his pulse quicken and his vision go darker around the edges.

No. Not again, no!

He whined and curled in on himself, trying to breathe, just breathe. Was this what humans called a panic attack? Was this what Stiles had fought all those times?

Stiles… Derek… Derek had a full shift. Derek controlled it. What had Derek done the first time it happened?

Something that easily explained why Peter’s first association with Stiles was Derek and vice versa.

Because Stiles was Derek’s anchor, long before he had admitted it even to himself. And back then in Mexico, even in his denial, Derek had gone to his anchor.

Which was, more often than not, just another word for…

Peter ran.

* * *

 

Chris parked his SUV in his usual spot and sighed. It was getting harder, each and everyday, to get back home to his empty apartment and silence that was killing him. It wasn’t the first time he wondered if he’d made the right choice coming back. Everyone else had moved on. According to Noah Stiles was doing great at Quantico and Scott was about to graduate soon. It was a good thing that they weren’t around much because he couldn’t help but compare them to Allison.

Would she have moved on with her life as well? Gotten away from this town’s madness, gotten a degree in some fancy college, travel a bit. Would she have met a guy… gotten married… become a mother…

He clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the pain to ebb away. He had been fine on the road, chasing his past, his family’s sins. His own sister. He had been fine sleeping at hotels or sometimes even in his car. There were only bad memories in Beacon Hills. Why did he have to come back? What did he have to come back here _for_?

He sighed again, shook his head and stepped out of the car.

A soft whine made him turn back immediately, hand automatically going for his gun when he saw… It was definitely a wolf. Chris waited, not drawing his weapon yet since the animal didn’t move to attack. If anything it looked kind of in pain. And like it was trying to make itself _not_ look imposing and menacing. And like it was trying to make Chris see something, something obvious. The wolf lowered his head and stared at him like it focused.

Neon blue eyes flashed and Chris tripped back from shock.

“Peter?”, he wondered quietly.

The wolf whined again.

“What… when…?”

Another whine, this one more desperate. And Chris got it.

“You can’t shift back.”

The wolf howled in pain and turned, running away, across the road. Chris cursed, hearing a car swivel and tires screech and he ran after the panicked wolf, no matter how much slower he was.

 

_Why are we going on this way?  
Why do we play these games in vain?  
Nothing's gonna break it down and build us back again  
So why did the path have to lead this way?  
Black is the soul that's led astray  
You're leading me to places I can never follow_ _…_

* * *

 

The ground shook under the pounding of his paws as he ran madly with no destination in mind. The panic grew and so did the feeling of being lost, in those woods he knew like the back of his hand and in his own mind, yet again. The wind hissed around him, almost drowning any other sound. Almost.

“Peter!”

His inner wolf whined, compelling him to stop. Peter couldn’t stop. Somewhere far behind he heard a muffled curse as the man chasing him tripped and barely remained on his feet. He wasn’t as fast as the wolf. Peter should slow down for him. If only he knew how.

The scent of something calming hit his nose giving him a focus, destination, goal. It must be one of the lakes. He had no idea where exactly in the woods he was right now but there were a few of them in the Preserve. If he’d paid attention while he ran, he’d know exactly which one it was.

He could already see the clear water surface and he ran even faster on the small pier and into the lake. Water and the sense of calm engulfed him. It was okay now. He was safe. Water meant no fire. It was safe. He could let go now…

…like he did as a child in his mother’s arms. He was younger than his sister and younger meant no Alpha responsibility. He was free to live, to love…

…that insufferable jock with fucking amazing blue eyes and blond hair. Could he be any more stereotypical?! Honestly, Peter was kind of disappointed with himself. He could have chosen better. But then again, that wasn’t really, fully his own choice on the matter…

…it was only once that he felt as calm in another person’s arms. But it was a stolen moment and it was all he could ever have, just a tiny teasing taste of what could never be…

He had no idea how long he’d spent under the water until strong arms grabbed him and pulled up. Hands, calloused and firm, closed around his very human, very naked body and shook him once as if telling him to cooperate. Peter was too confused to put up a fight either way.

One hand let go and a muscular arm swung wide, pulling them both up. It took merely seconds before they reached the pier, both coughing and the other man cursing. The guy pulled himself up on the rickety wood and then dragged Peter out of the water. A piece of wet fabric slapped him across his face and Peter stared blearily at it as it fell in his lap, wondering what he was supposed to do with it before it clicked. He was naked. In his weird way Argent was trying to preserve his dignity.

Laugh bubbled in his chest, erupting when the other man cursed,

“Fucking hell, Hale!”

Peter howled with it now, bending in two on the small pier.

“What are you laughing at, idiot! You could have drowned!”, Chris hissed.

“And? What would that matter to you?”, Peter shot back, still chuckling.

The question seemed to sober them both up. Peter’s laughter died down and Chris sat heavily next to him, both staring at the water. The air around them was charged with other questions, hard and unspoken.

 _“Why did you come back? Why did you stay?”_ , Peter could have asked what even Chris had wondered just earlier that night.

 _“Why did you come to me? And what took you so long in the water?”,_ Chris could have countered with.

And then, because it was a night for truths and revelations, Chris took a deep breath.

“Do you remember, that one time at Jeremy’s…”

“Spin the bottle or truth or dare?”, Peter smirked.

“Spin the bottle”, Chris said, also smiling fondly at the memory. “You were the first guy who got me hard.”

“And scared”, Peter snorted, shaking his head. “So scared that on the next game when you had to choose between truth or dare you chose truth because you knew what the dare would be.”

Chris was silent for a while before he turned to look at him. Was that his reason to come back? Was that the pull he always seem to feel, why he always found his way back to that cursed town? Was it their constant bickering and treats that sometimes became true? Or did the answers hide deeper and longer ago, in a tiny closet?

“I’d choose dare now”, Chris whispered.

“Oh, would you”, Peter suddenly frowned. “We both know we’re not the same naïve teenage boys. And I’m too broken for silly games.”

“I can live with that”, Chris insisted.

“Can you, really?!”, Peter snapped, turning to face him with blazing blue eyes.

_Can you live with a murderer?_

Chris’ eyes lowered, inspecting his own two hands meaningfully before he looked up again.

_There’s blood on my hands too. You know that._

He reached out. Peter eyed the hand warily.

“Dare”, Chris challenged, lips pulling up in a barely there smile.

Peter snorted, shaking his head.

But he took the hand.

* * *

 

Sex came easier than talking. Peter was a natural flirt and it was no problem for him to let someone inside his body, the way he could never let anyone inside his soul. Some people used sex to express with their bodies what they couldn’t say with their words. Peter wasn’t one of them. And he made that very clear.

Kisses were hickeys on the side of the neck, bites and sucks that danced on the edge between pleasure and pain but remained just on the right side of it. Never on the lips, never with his eyes closed. In fact he always made sure he was able to see the door and the windows clearly, no matter if he was on all fours, bent in two or riding the hunter within an inch of his life. He was never caged, never cornered, always ready to bolt, his attention evenly split between covering all exits and building up pleasure until it was pure ecstasy.

He was good at it too; sex. He knew how to drive Chris half delirious and made him forget anything else.

Or so he thought.

* * *

 

Chris allowed it in the beginning, Peter’s odd ‘no kissing’ rule. First, because the sex was amazing, the way it had never been with his wife or any of his flings after she had passed. Peter was a fucking pro at this and Chris tried not to dwell on how he had become so good.

Second, what they had was too fragile yet. Too new and unnamed for any labels, any pushes that might be just what would break it.

But as time went by and the newness of it faded a little Chris began feeling the sting of it. Like he was with a whore who got paid for this and kisses were just not part of the contract.

So that night while Peter writhed above him, Chris pushed. He flipped them till he had Peter pinned under his weight and forced his lips on his mouth. There was a growl, vicious and promising pain, soon if Chris didn’t pull back so he did. He drew back and looked down at his lover.

Peter’s eyes shone dangerously, eerily iridescent in the darkness of his bedroom. Chris didn’t flinch and didn’t look away. When he bent down again, slowly and giving away his intention Peter didn’t move away but didn’t encourage it either. His lips remained stubbornly unresponsive when they kissed again but Chris didn’t give up.

He pushed. He had to. He pushed through Peter’s walls and defenses until he broke through.

Lips opened tentatively and Chris felt like a stupid teenager again, like his heart was going to explode inside of him. It was stupid, considering he was buried to the hilt in this man but this felt like… more. More personal. More intimate.

The first time their tongues met had Chris groaning and pushing for more. He felt Peter smirking through it as he finally let go and threw himself in it. Chris felt his head spinning. Fuck, the bastard could kiss when he wanted to.

When he finally pulled back to take a breath, panting in Peter’s neck, the brat had the nerve to ask,

“Well?”

Chris groaned, thrusting home straight into Peter’s sweet spot, making him keen with pleasure.

“Thought it was clear with how hard I am for you. Fishing for compliments?”, Chris growled.

Peter chuckled, actually chuckled, before he clenched around him, biting his lip sexily.

“Hard is how I want to come right now so get back on task, soldier”, he whispered dirtily in Chris’ ear, slapping his ass demandingly.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

 

“You seem a lot better lately”, Chris observed.

“Meaning?”, Peter frowned into his coffee.

“Less tired. Your cold is gone…”

“That was months ago, of course it’s gone”, Peter argued.

“So you know what it was?”, Chris asked, curious.

Peter clenched his teeth. Yeah, he had an idea. He had an idea why he felt better now that Chris was around more. Why the fever had been gone from that first night on the pier when they had bared their souls. Why he felt more alive than ever, full of energy and content where he was. 

And it was something that scared him with how vulnerable it made him. He didn’t want to admit it even to himself, much less to the hunter.

Who was much more than just a fling. Much as Peter hated to admit it, his wolf knew better.

* * *

 

They bickered and taunted each other all the time. But funnily enough Chris never mocked him about the things the brats did.

“I like this car. It’s very… you”, he observed once while they were driving through the woods.

“Black as my soul?”, Peter smirked.

“Fast and wild. Beautiful.”

It was moments like these when Peter didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to acknowledge what Chris’ words did to him.

In moments like these he reverted to what he knew best: sex.

In the next half an hour all that left Chris’ mouth were moans and the occasional curse.

Until…

“If you like it so much why don’t you get yourself something like that?”, he panted in Chris’ neck.

“Because… fucking sexy as it is… my back is killing me right now.”

Peter laughed.

“We should try this in your car. It’s roomier.”

Chris twitched, obviously interested in the offer.

* * *

 

“Come the fuck on, Argent, it is basically what you actually do now, after your oh-so-noble retreat from hunting!”

“No.”

Peter growled, slumping in his chair. Chris regarded him curiously.

“What do you even need a gun for?”, he asked.

“None of your damn business”, Peter gritted. “Especially considering you’re not even providing said weapon.”

Chris lifted an eyebrow. It was actually a very close thing to the Hale Eyebrow Language. Peter huffed, hands clenching into fists.

“Malia’s pregnant”, he grunted.

Both of Chris’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then he frowned.

“You’re… not gonna kill her, right?”

“Of course not, idiot! Not _her_ ”, Peter growled.

“Ah. The father”, Chris nodded, looking as if he tried to suppress a smirk.

“Not that I encourage violence but. You have claws. And fangs.”

“So does he.”

“Ah”, another nod. “McCall?”

“He’s my first guess, yes. Also, it would be pretty obvious to use fangs and claws. Then again”, he hummed, suddenly lost in his wildly vivid imagination, “they may never find his body.”

Chris huffed a laugh and to Peter’s utter dismay stood up, patted his shoulder and said, on his way out of the café,

“Go home, Grandpa.”

* * *

 

Chris flicked through the ads, eyes scanning the text quickly before moving on. Nothing got his attention for longer than a few seconds. Nothing here fit, nothing was what he wanted.

Peter wandered in the kitchen bleary eyed, dragging his feet and going straight for the coffee. Chris didn’t want to admit that he found that adorable.

Then a thought occurred to him. Peter had gone through this recently.

“Hey, can you give me your real estate agent’s number?”, he asked.

Peter got strangely still at that. Were his shoulders tense? It was hard to tell, he had such broad shoulders and…

…and Chris was getting distracted.

“What for?”, Peter asked warily.

Chris rolled his eyes.

“I’m house hunting, genius.”

“You have your own place.”

Observant. Chris bit that back and sighed.

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s haunted”, Chris shot back, annoyed. Why was Peter not turning around, keeping his back turned to him?

“Oh?”

“By bad memories, can you please turn around and look at me while I’m talking to you?!”

Peter turned, very slowly but still avoiding his eyes. He stirred his coffee meticulously even though Chris was well aware that Peter had his coffee _black_.

“That is not sensible”, he said.

“What isn’t?”, Chris was getting tired of playing games, tired of dragging Peter’s words out of his mouth, tired of beating around the bush.

“Paying for another place. You spend a lot of time here. You might as well just move in and save yourself the trouble of house hunting, which is a truly horrible experience let me tell you…”

“Hold the fuck up! Did you just… ask me to move in?”

Peter scoffed, nose turned up haughtily, eyes still avoiding Chris’.

“On a completely practical note. That way I’ll always have you around when I… get an urge.”

“Uh huh”, Chris smirked, standing up and stepping closer.

“Wipe that smug smirk off your face, Argent! You’ll be paying rent…”

“With my cock, providing sexual services to the home owner, I got that.”

“Damn right. I happen to like your cock, that’s all.”

“It likes you too”, Chris laughed in Peter’s neck, grinding on his leg.

Peter sighed. “You are an imbecile.”

“ _Your_ imbecile”, Chris muttered distractedly, not really paying much attention to his words while he mouthed Peter’s neck.

He couldn’t catch the way Peter’s heart stuttered at those words.

* * *

 

Something changed when they started living together.

The desire was there and it was sometimes just as demanding as before. But more often than not the urgency was replaced by sensual seduction.

The water reflected the sun and made Peter’s wet skin shine with it, as if he was glowing from the inside. It made something inside Chris shift and _want_. It made his mouth salivate with the thoughts of what he wanted to do to him. Funny how even after all those months together there still seemed to be new things to try, new ways to experiment, more pleasure to find. And Chris wanted it all, to the point of needing it desperately.

He caught Peter’s eyes and saw the same thoughts reflected there. Those beautiful arrogant eyes were always taunting him.

Chris swam closer, cornering Peter and pinning him to the edge of the pool with his arms on each side of the wolf. He was just smirking smugly when Peter answered with a bastard smile of his own before flipping them until it was Chris with his back to the pool’s edge and Peter’s arms caging him. There was a dangerous glint in those blue eyes as Peter took a deep breath and slid under the water, lips ghosting over Chris’ abs. His swim trunks were yanked down and a second later those lips wrapped around his already half-hard cock and gave it a hard suck, making his breath hitch. Before he realized what was going on it was over and Peter reemerged a few feet away from him with his back turned to the hunter. He swam to the other side, his wide shoulders flexing with each swipe, and grabbed the edge of the pool. Just before he levered himself out he looked over his shoulder, eyes fixing Chris. Sinuous lips stretched in a devilish smirk. And then those strong arms flexed and Peter pulled himself out of the water. Stark naked. Dripping.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Chris almost tripped himself in the water and in his own trunks, half-pulled down his thigs, in his haste to chase after the wolf. He cursed and heard the quiet chuckle as Peter heard him, already in the house and basking in his victory. Chris had been a fool to start that game, to compete against the best, the one who had probably _invented_ seducing in the first place. He got rid of his trunks and quickly got out of the pool. He had to catch up with the smug bastard.

Because more often than not a well-played seduction led to an even greater urgency.

* * *

 

The table creaked ominously as Chris thrusted deeper inside the writhing body. Peter was on his back, human nails digging into the wood in vain, providing no leverage. His legs were around Chris’ waist, feet digging demandingly into his ass, urging him to move faster, deeper. Sweat slicked their bodies, easing the slide of their wandering hands, gripping any part of their bodies as if they couldn’t get enough of each other, as if they were scared that was a stolen moment that would get taken away from them and they had to make the best of it while they still had it.

It sometimes concerned him, that desperation, and he wondered if it would ever settle.

Peter groaned and suddenly pushed at his shoulders, hard enough to make him pull out and stumble back. He blinked, confused.

Peter slid of the table, turned around… and bent over it.

Presenting.

It was an offer Chris couldn’t deny and he slid back with a filthy groan of his own. Peter arched back, meeting his thrusts with a feral growl, pushing back, chasing their orgasms. His hands were no longer human, digging into the wood and leaving deep scratches. If he could look at his face right now Chris knew what he would see: dropped fangs and neon blue eyes, furry sideburns and claws.

Peter never really shifted when they had sex. He’d only ever allowed eye-flashes, as a thread in the very early stages of… what they had. The thought hit Chris right as Peter came with a roar: he wasn’t presenting.

He was hiding. Still.

When Chris came it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should have been.

* * *

 

Living with a werewolf made Chris a lot better at a lot of things: being stealthier, controlling his emotions and heartbeat better…

Faking and feinting better.

When Peter got out of the bathroom that morning Chris pretended to still be asleep. He wasn’t really sure why he did so but something compelled him to. As if giving Peter some space would reveal more of the wolf.

It was quiet for a moment, then Peter moved silently. The bed dipped.

Chris waited some more, then slid his eyes open just a tiny bit.

Peter was looking at his abs, lost in memories. His hand hovered over the old scar from the iron rod, hesitant. It took him a long moment or two before he lowered his hand over the old wound. And frowned. Chris realized Peter was trying to draw pain where there was none, not anymore.

“It doesn’t hurt”, he simply said.

Peter startled, flinching back and standing up, looking anywhere but at the hunter. Chris wasn’t having that. He shot up from the bed and grabbed the flailing wolf, falling back on the rumpled sheets and pinning Peter to the mattress. Even strong as Chris was they were both aware that Peter _let_ himself be manhandled, not really fighting the other man. And still not really meeting his eyes.

“Look at me”, Chris said.

Peter was stubborn but Chris didn’t give up.

“Look. At. Me.”

Slowly, very slowly, Peter turned his head and glanced briefly at him.

“I don’t do this”, he said.

“What?”, Chris pushed.

“Heart to heart. Bearing my soul.”

“Maybe you should sometimes.”

Peter snorted. “Trust me, it’s not pretty.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?”

He bent down and kissed Peter’s lips gently, a barely there thing without breaking eye-contact.

“Why don’t you let yourself… just be… here, with me…. Drop the guard.”

“With a hunter?”, Peter shot back, trying for snarky; but it came off breathy and weak.

“With _me_.”

Peter choked on a gasp, right as Chris’ mouth closed around a nipple, licking and sucking gently before moving to the other. His lips traveled lower, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses all over Peter’s tight abs. They followed and teased his happy trail down until it disappeared in the towel. Nimble fingers undid the knot and slid the fabric away, leaving the werewolf naked and panting, exposed to the hunter’s hungry eyes.

This time there would be no holding back. This time he would break Peter apart.

Chris bent down and took Peter in his mouth making the werewolf gasp again. Fingers slid in his hair hesitantly, in a way he wouldn’t expect from bold and arrogant Peter Hale. But this time there were no images to uphold. It was just them.

He groaned around the shaft, encouraging his partner to hold on tighter. Peter’s fingers alternated between tugging and threading through Chris’ hair as he got lost in the feeling. His legs opened wider, a subtle invitation for more.

Chris’ hand crawled under the mattress and grabbed the small bottle of lube, uncapping in and coating his fingers. Not letting go of Peter’s dick, he slid one finger inside him. He was always gentle, always thorough, no matter how many times they’d had sex already. It wasn’t just a matter of stretching. It was matter of building trust, that you’d never hurt your partner, that you’ll always take care of them.

It was something Peter desperately needed.

It was something that had played a big part in getting them where they were right now, with their relationship.

One finger turned two, and then three. Peter groaned, meeting Chris thrusts and clenching around his fingers, silently urging him to move on. Chris drew back his hand, coated himself and slid inside Peter…

Maddeningly slowly.

It made Peter open his eyes and stare up at him, lips parted as he panted but no snarky demand leaving his mouth, like it would usually. They kept looking at each other’s eyes as Chris began moving gently, slowly. It was sexy and sensual but Peter needed more. He clenched around him, meeting his thrusts. His hand slid down and he squeezed Chris’ ass cheek, urging him, begging without words. Chris’ lips twitched in a barely there smile but he kept his pace. Peter groaned, frowning and trying to speed things up, thrusting up faster but Chris’ hand quickly pinned his hips back down.

Blue met blue. Peter’s eyes narrowed.

He leaned up and caught Chris’ lips in a dirty kiss.

The hunter moaned helplessly, hips snapping down, making Peter smirk triumphantly into the kiss. Chris groaned.

So be it.  

The pace picked up, tension building up until it was impossible to keep up with the kiss. Peter’s head was thrown back in pleasure, body writhing unabashedly under Chris. He could feel his shift, right on the surface, fangs and claws seconds away from making an appearance. He didn’t want to break their pace by making Chris pull out so he could turn on his belly and thus avoid facing him. He did the next best thing and grabbed the other pillow to hide his face in it.

Chris stopped moving inside him, making Peter whine. A second later a hand grabbed the pillow and gently pulled it back from Peter’s face. Fingers lifted Peter’s chin and gently made him look up. Chris was frowning.

“Don’t hide from me.”

Peter closed his eyes. He knew what color they were right now and it was killing him.

The fingers gently rubbed his eyelids.

“ _Any part of you_ ”, Chris whispered.

His heart skipped, breath hitching again as he finally looked up, straight into pale blue. Chris smiled.

“That’s it, yeah…”, he said, starting to move again, slowly. The pace had changed, on so many levels. This was important. This was a _moment_.

Peter’s eyes flicked towards his own hands, claws digging painfully into his own palms. No, he couldn’t completely let go, not everything.

“You won’t hurt me.”

Peter’s eyes snapped to look back at Chris for a second, before they lowered, finding the old scar on his abs.

_I did already._

“Peter, you won’t hurt me. Not anymore. Let go.”

He shook his head.

“No…”, he whispered brokenly, fangs digging into his own lip, eyes squeezing shut and tears spilling free. He felt Chris licking at the blood at his bottom lip, coaxing it free from his fangs.

“Let go”, he whispered again. His thrusts were still slow but deeper now, milking Peter’s sweet spot.

“Chris…”, the name slipped between his lips on a wrecked moan, making the man above him shudder as they rocked together. Fingers slipped between his clawed ones, pinning his hands around his head. Chris rubbed their stubbled cheeks together, probably not even aware what that did to a wolf, and let out a filthy moan right next to Peter’s ear.

His body tensed, arching up as his mouth opened on a silent scream. Wide neon blue eyes stared at pale blue who looked back with the same wide wonder. And then, with something else…

_Peter leered at the guy the bottle was pointing at. The jock. The hunter-boy._

_“Well, Argent?”, he taunted._

_The other boy gritted his teeth._

_“Let’s just get this over with.”_

_They squeezed together in the small closet, Peter’s eyes easily adjusting to the darkness._

_“We can just say we did it. No one would know”, Argent was saying._

_“Where’s the fun in that?”, Peter teased. Argent sighed, realizing there was no backing away and Peter wouldn’t keep his mouth shut if he cheated._

_“Okay, but no tongue!”_

_“Chicken”, Peter snorted._

_And then Argent grabbed his face and kissed him. Not a peck on the lips. A full-on, filthy kiss, tongue invading Peter’s mouth as the wolf was too stunned to respond at first. But a true Hale would never give up that easily. He threw himself in it, their tongues battling for dominance. Argent’s hands slid lower, gripping his arms hard._

_That’s precisely when Peter realized that not only Argent’s_ grip _was hard. He smirked into the kiss, hand crawling into the hunter’s lap._

_Argent pulled back as if he was burned, still panting, his eyes wide and shocked. He reeked of fear. And arousal._

_“A kiss”, he hissed, backing away from the closet immediately._

_Peter grinned. There was always the next the game._

_…He didn’t immediately realize that his wolf had perked up, sniffing the air curiously._

_…._

_He should have been happy as he watched the hunters pack._

_He was devastated._

_And inside, his wolf howled brokenly._

_Talia stepped up behind him, reaching to rub his back._

_“It was too risky either way. You’ll find someone way better, baby bro…”_

_He flinched away from her, turning to look at her with disbelief._

_She gasped._

_“Peter…”_

_“It’s nothing”, he gritted out._

_“You know exactly what it is”, she said softly, with something akin to pity in her eyes._

_“So what!? He’s leaving!”, Peter snapped, turning to walk away._

_… They were in his bedroom, Peter kneeling on the floor and Talia’s claws digging into his neck._

_“No, please no!”, Peter begged, tears spilling down his face._

_“It’s better this way, brother. I’m doing this for you”, she said, face twisted in grief._

_“Tal, please…”_

_“Talia!”_

_Their mother stood in the doorway, eyes wide and terrified._

_“What have you done!?”_

_“I had to, mom! He was in too much pain, he would pine away for this guy…!”_

_“Talia, you can’t just erase a **mate**!”, their mother yelled._

_But Peter’s eyes were strangely blank…_

… Everything after that memory was somehow foggy and felt hollow and… disconnected. No matter what Peter did or felt it was incomplete, untethered. He was unstable, long before the fire happened…

…although the pain just intensified after that. Chris could feel every single lick of the flames and then the numb feeling of severed pack bonds while Peter was locked away in his own body, unable to move, slowly going insane…

… from then on, it was a roller-coaster of hate, rage, death, being reborn, confusion, pain, feeling completely lost….

… and then everything halted, stopped with a screeching sound and he took a deep breath as if for the first time, as if just waking up from the worst nightmare. He focused. On a pair of pale blue eyes. _His own_ pale blue eyes.

Chris blinked, slowly coming back to himself.

Peter lay under him, eyes closed and breathing evenly.

Chris exhaled shakily, his head falling on the pillow next to Peter’s. He deserved a minute to come to terms with what he saw.

* * *

 

Peter swam in and out of consciousness. He was dimly aware of a towel, gently wiping him and then strong arms, lifting him off the bed.

“Hey”, a voice said gently right next to his ear. “Can you hold on to me? Peter? Come on, just wrap your arms around my neck…. Damn, you’re heavy when you’re unconscious…”

Peter frowned. He wasn’t heavy!

“Mmm”, he managed.

Chris snorted.

He startled a bit when he was lowered into the water and his head snapped up, eyes bleary and trying to focus.

“Easy, easy…”, Chris placated.

Peter looked around. They were in the tub and he was sprawled on top of Chris, the hunter’s hands gently rubbing his back. He sighed, closing his eyes and lowered his head on Chris’ chest.

“How do you feel?”, Chris asked.

Weird question. As if they hadn’t had sex before.

“Drained”, Peter realized, somehow even more surprised. He felt like he had missed something.

“So”, Chris began, voice a bit hoarse and shaky. Heh, so it had been nice, the sex, Peter figured. “Mates, huh?”

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he bolted up, staring at the hunter in shock. Chris’ hands gripped his hips, as if preventing him to really run.

“Peter, calm down, it’s okay, just…”

“How?”, he rasped out.

“I…don’t really know. I guess our consciousness merged and… I saw some things.”

Peter tensed even more. Chris’ hands began rubbing his sides, his shoulders, anything to calm him down.

“What?”, Peter managed.

“…The closet at Jeremy’s”, Chris smiled lopsidedly. But then his smile faded. “When my family moved away. Talia… and… your mom was so mad. The other things were kind of foggy.”

“She did a good job. Sort of. I found out just recently that she’d fucked around with my brain – when I found out about Malia and why I didn’t remember her mother. Obviously it was a fling to forget you, right before Talia wiped off half of my mind. But you… why now?”, Peter whispered.

Chris shrugged.

“I guess that’s the first time you really let me in. The first time I realized how long it’s been going on. How deep it was.”

“Hm”, was all Peter said before he leaned back down, lying on top of him. His hand found the old scar without any fault and he rubbed it mindlessly.

Which made Chris think…

“And the iron rod? What are you not telling me about it?”

There was something missing there, with Peter’s reaction to his scar, with his guilt. That hadn’t been an act of insanity or revenge, hadn’t been a part of the grand plan, even back then when Peter’s mind was a jumbled mess.

Peter flinched. Chris remembered how his eyes had looked back then, brimming with emotions as Peter had leaned in into him, just for a second before pulling away slowly, as if it hurt him to do so…

“It was that or give you to the berserkers”, Peter whispered.

Chris’ grip tightened around him.

* * *

 

“You’re staring.”

Peter’s voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t biting. It was just stating a fact. Chris blinked, looking back down at his coffee.

“It’s a lot to process. Being mated.”

“We’re not, technically.”

Chris looked up, surprised. Peter shrugged.

“Being mated involves certain bite marks on certain places. We’re mates, but we’re not claimed to each other.”

The hunter nodded, storing that bit of info away.

“Anyway. I meant the depth of this relationship. _You_. It’s… a lot.”

“So you looked into my soul, saw into my past and now you see me in a whole different light?”, Peter smirked, trying for a lighter, teasing mood.

Chris looked at him, openly and all guards down. “Yeah.”

The smile slid from Peter’s face. He was silent for a moment.

“Do you wish it was different?”, he finally asked.

“ _No_.”

It was said with such passion, such devotion that Peter found himself believing him.

* * *

 

Things slowly… settled between them. As if putting all cards on the table and having nothing left to hide made them… calmer.

Free.

Sex was still amazing and sometimes even mind-blowing but it was now lacking that desperate note that had always concerned Chris deeply. Their teasing was less biting and more _actual_ teasing, jabs less scathing and more on the funny side. They still bickered but it was oddly… domestic.

“We should try something new”, Peter said, out of the blue.

“New?”, Chris asked, not really seeing where this was going (or coming from).

“Like sex on the roof. Or out in the woods.”

Chris gave him a look.

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine.”

“I haven’t said anything”, Chris pointed.

“You have that tight-lipped small smile that says ‘hm, no’”, Peter observed.

It made Chris smile a real smile, noting how Peter knew his tells.

It also made him think out of his comfort zone.

* * *

 

Peter dragged his feet, yawning and rubbing at his eyes before he lowered his hand and pawed at the coffee machine. His fingers caught something small and flat. He frowned, trying to focus. It was a note. Stuck on the coffee machine.

_The hell…?_

He took it, squinting at it.

 _“So I was thinking…”_ it said in Chris’ neat handwriting.

“You were thinking…?”, Peter grumbled, opening the fridge to take out the orange juice and some bacon.

Another note.

_“…we should try something new :)”_

What the…

And was that a smiley face?!

When Peter turned around Chris stood at the doorway in his running gear, the air around him charged with excitement and a touch of arousal. He smiled, muscles flexing. Peter tensed, suddenly wide awake.

“Oh, no you don’t…”

Chris took off.

Peter sighed, body taut and ready for the chase.

“…don’t tempt a wolf that way”, he growled around fangs before he took off after his mate.

It was exhilarating, the chase. Peter had never felt more connected with his wolf, both happy to feel the air hissing around them and to see their prize a little ahead of them. He didn’t catch Chris immediately even though he could, of course. But the chase was just as pleasurable and Peter found himself prolonging it.

Until he couldn’t take it anymore and it was time to claim the prize.

He pounced, tackling Chris to the ground from behind. He fell with a muffled ‘oof’ and a choked off chuckle and Peter allowed him to turn and face him before he crawled above him in his half-shift.

“Now look what you’ve done, Christopher”, Peter said between fangs, hands tugging at Chris’ sweatpants, struggling not to hurt him with a claw when he touched naked flesh. “I don’t even have the right presence of mind to properly prepare you…”

He was still mourning that fact when his fingers found wetness. Where it shouldn’t be. He froze and his eyes fixed Chris’, a single eyebrow lifting in a silent question. The hunter smirked.

“Who do you take me for? I’ve come prepared.”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat, body vibrating with need. Chris nodded, wiggling his hips a little.

“Come on.”

Peter sank inside him with a growl, Chris groaning and gripping his shoulder, head falling back on the ground, eyes closed and body arching beautifully.

“Fuck yeah…”, he groaned, face twisted in pleasure as Peter nailed his sweet spot from the first try.

Peter growled animalistically, mouthing at his neck. Chris could tell this was going to be quick; they were both getting there faster than usual. Peter was tense above him, those small half-pants half-oh-s slipping between fangs: he was close.

Chris smirked. He also knew his mate’s tells.

A fang grazed his clavicle slightly and his smirk only grew when he exposed his neck and said,

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Peter’s thrusts stuttered and he looked at him wide eyed, asking. Chris nodded with a smile.

Peter couldn’t hold back the whine; so there was going to be _claiming_ of the prize!

A few more thrusts and he roared, biting down hard on Chris’ neck. The hunter groaned, hand gripping Peter’s shoulder tighter but thankfully he also felt the wetness between their bodies which meant Chris had also reached his orgasm.

Peter slumped, head spinning and body completely boneless, crushing his mate with weight.

His _claimed_ mate.

“You’re heavy”, Chris muttered.

“You’re strong enough to take it”, Peter shot back.

They shook with their laugher and it echoed in the quiet woods.

* * *

 

Peter received his own mating bite after a sensual surprise in the candlelit bathroom because Chris was a sap.

The look on Derek’s face when he eventually came to visit and saw Peter’s neck was priceless.

* * *

 

Malia was very round and very pissed off.

“He said I was irrational and hormonal! I don’t fucking care if I am, or if it’s midnight and the only 24/7 is twelve blocks down! I _needed_ that chocolate ice cream!”

Peter listened, quietly plotting to maybe still kill McCall. What was wrong with him?! What were twelve blocks for the woman carrying your baby?!

Malia strode through the house aimlessly, pacing through rooms until…

Peter tensed, reaching out to stop her, but it was too late.

“No, don’t…! …go there…”, he finished lamely.

She stood there, frozen to the spot. Her eyes fell on the stuffed wolf, the rocking crib with its white canopy, the changing table, the playing mat, the rocking chair in the corner… It wasn’t done by someone with vague ideas about what a nursery should look like. It was done with thought and after a careful research of all the necessities.

She turned around to look at him.

Peter’s expression was guarded and he didn’t look her in the eyes.

“So what. I did it. I never had the chance to build a nursery for you. So there. Laugh.”

Malia strode over determinedly and threw her arms around him. She said nothing.

Slowly and hesitantly, his arms lifted and gently returned the hug.

* * *

 

It was the middle of summer and the heat was barely tolerable. The back porch offered a much needed shade. And a swing.

Peter leaned on a wooden pillar and watched with a smile as Chris gently rocked his grandson to sleep.

To no avail.

The baby fused and Peter snorted. Chris looked up and shook his head.

“He’s stubborn like you.”

Peter shrugged, walking over and sitting down next to his mate.

“You love it.”

He took Max from and put him on his chest, gently rubbing his back as the baby calmed. Chris threw an arm around his shoulders and leaned in to kiss his temple. Peter sighed contently.

His wolf and his soul had found peace.

 


End file.
